


Intermezzo

by Emerald



Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:04:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald/pseuds/Emerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josef unloads his feelings about Mick onto a bar tender, who only has hours to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intermezzo

**Author's Note:**

> Minor erotic restraint, some mild domination/submission. Also an experiment with tense change to signify flashback. Written for the small fandom fest on LiveJournal.

Frank Campbell’s been working the Avalon bar in downtown Los Angeles for the past twenty odd years. Josef Kostan has been a regular patron the last ten. He comes in around midnight, sits for an hour or two, sometimes at the bar, sometimes slipping into one of the private booths that lined the windows, always alone, always drinking the same thing – a bottle of Chivas Regal Royal Salute, the most expensive item the Avalon has on offer. Tonight is no exception.

The man is ageless; Frank Campbell thinks as he tracks Josef’s entrance. A decade since he first stepped foot inside these premises, and Josef Kostan doesn’t look as if he’s aged a single day.

“What can I get you tonight, Mr Kostan?”

Ageless and with a cast iron constitution to boot, Frank Campbell has never seen anyone put away as much liquor as Josef Kostan can, and still remain standing.

“Just my usual thanks, Frank.” Josef slides into a booth, rests his arm atop the oak veneer ledge, and watches the world through a smoke glass window. He’s distracted, out of sorts, all finger tapping, and lip biting pensive mood.

“What are you drinking to, Mr Kostan,” Frank tries to sound jovial as he uncorks the Chivas Regal, and pours a measure into a glass, “love, or money?”

Josef declines to answer. Accepting the drink with a polite smile, he downs some of its contents, and then returns to his reverie of window gazing. Frank turns to leave, figures Josef isn’t in the mood to make small talk. Still, Frank can’t help but be a little disappointed; it’s been a slow night, there’s only so many times he can polish the glasses.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Josef surprises Frank then, the question voiced matter of fact as Josef’s fingers caress the rim of the tumbler in front of him.

“I’m not sure, Mr Kostan, it’s never happened to me.” Frank turns back toward Josef, his face marked with polite question. He waits for Josef’s invitation, and then slides into the seat opposite.

For a moment Josef considers telling the man in front of him to drop the Mr Kostan crap. Considers it, and then dismisses the idea. He likes that Frank seems to know his place. Typical bar tender, Josef thinks, the sort he’s always liked. They would nod and smile in all the right places, but never act like they were your friends. Somehow the lack of familiarity made it easier to talk.

Josef drains the remainder of his Whiskey, taps the edge of his glass, gestures to Frank for a refill. And then he’s knocking back the second drink in two swift gulps, and sliding a set of photographs across the table.

“Who is it?” The photos are meant for Josef’s security detail. Frank looks at the man in the picture, thinks he recognises the face. He’s been here before, one of the many companions Frank has seen come through the double door entrance with Josef over the past decade. Frank doesn’t remember ever being introduced.

Josef reaches for the bottle of Chivas Regal himself this time, pours his third drink of the evening, swirls the amber fluid in the glass awhile, and then takes a few quick sips of the dusky liquid.

“His name is Mick St John.”

“Friend of yours?” Frank thinks he knows where Josef is going, still he asks the question; experience has taught him the danger of presumption.

“In a manner of speaking.” Josef knows he’s being deliberately evasive. He pauses for a moment, stretches catlike, and adjusts the sleeves of his shirt. “Actually…”

“…A lover?”  Frank finishes Josef’s sentence with polite interest, and tops up his glass. He senses Josef relaxing, hopes the man will open up more. Ten years, and they’ve never really had a chance to talk.

Josef hesitates; he plays his cards close to his chest, an automatic reflex of self-preservation. He slides the photos back towards himself, studies them a while, silently berates Mick’s recent stupidity, and then turns his attentions back to Frank.

“Once, yes.”

“Tell me about him.” Frank Campbell knows he shouldn’t push, but still he leans closer, asks the question anyway. Up until a few moments ago he knew nothing bar Josef’s name, now he sits in rapt fascination, and waits for Josef to reply.

Josef swirls the tumbler in his hand a few more times, drains the remaining dregs, and then places the glass on the table with a resounding clink. He studies the man’s form in front of him for a moment, and then scents the air around him. It confirms what he already knows.

 _Frank Campbell won’t live to see the end of this night._   
_  
_

Only then does Josef begin to talk.

“The year was 1952…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A thousand says you can’t seduce him by the end of the night.”

“Who is he?” Josef was less interested in Ryder England’s offer of a wager, than he was in discovering the name of the man whose form he now tracked across the room. _  
_

“Coraline’s latest acquisition, Mick St John.”

“Mick St John.” Josef tested the name on his tongue, and watched as Mick padded across the room, poised on the balls of his feet. Josef didn’t think he’d ever seen a newly turned Vampire so uncertain of his strength. Mick moved as if he were afraid the ground would shatter beneath him. It was almost endearing, a Vampire who walked softly upon the earth.

And then there were his eyes; Christ he could get lost in those eyes, those delicate, long lashes drawing him in.

Josef felt a handkerchief being pressed into his hand. Ryder was grinning at him, an elbow nudged into Josef’s ribcage, “Thought you might like to mop up that drool.”

“Very funny.” Josef’s disapproval was short lived. He had better things to do than trade puerile humour with Ryder England.

His first encounter with Mick St John didn’t go quite the way Josef had envisioned. He found Mick outside, pleading with a hysterical meal. The woman was screaming loud enough to be heard for miles, her cries, shrill, and insistent, piercing the nighttime surrounds.

In two quick steps Josef had covered the distance between them, and snapped the woman’s neck.

“Why don’t you try having them scream louder next time,” Josef acid tongue witted as he cast the lifeless corpse aside, “I’m not sure they heard that down in Connecticut?”

“I thought she was a Freshie,” Mick protested, “and you didn’t have to kill her.”

“No, of course not. I’m sure your boyish charm would have won her over eventually.” Josef drew the line of his mouth into a patronising smile. And then he was stepping forward, hand outstretched, intent on introduction.

“Josef Kostan.”

“Mick St John.” Mick cast a wary eye over the man in front of him as he accepted Josef’s preferred hand.

“So tell me, Mick St John,” Josef folded his arms across his chest, crossed his legs at the ankles, and leaned cockily on one hip, “do you usually try and wear down your prey with well reasoned arguments? Because personally I prefer the bite and drain method myself.”

“Maybe some of us don’t want to be monsters.” Mick had delivered those words matter of fact polite, his expression, radiating disapproval, told of his true feelings.

Their first meeting was over then. By night’s close Mick had declared Josef a ‘pompous jerk’, and Josef was convinced Mick wasn’t cut out to be a Vampire.

A year later, things had changed. Much like a stray puppy that follows you home, and then refuses to leave, Mick had somehow managed to ensconce himself in Josef’s life.

Not that Josef minded, not one little bit. He was rather enjoying watching Mick’s development as a fledgling. Mick no longer walked so softly on the earth, but still he retained that essence of a rare breed, an immortal with a mortal’s conscience.

Josef had stopped questioning his strange arrangement with Mick, nevertheless he still found himself wondering on occasion, staring wistful as he tried to figure out if there was something more, something other than the lessons of refinement he offered. Sometimes Josef thought he saw glimpses. Always it was fleeting though, the flame of an emotion flickering across Mick’s features and then extinguished.

“Face it, you’re in love with him,” Ryder remarked on more than one occasion, much to Josef’s continued denial.

“No, I’m not.”

They left the party around midnight; Mick swaying under the effects of several alcohol and pot laced veins tapped too close in succession. Josef was preparing his admonishments when Mick cut in.

“Do you want to sleep with me?”

“I beg your pardon?” The question had come out of left field; Josef cast a wary eye over Mick’s form.

“Just what the question said, do you want to sleep with me?” Mick shrugged, hands in pockets as he stumbled along the pathway home. Josef had insisted on walking, he figured Mick could do with the fresh air, and the time to sober up.

“Well gee, Mick,” Josef tossed Mick a wry grin, “I don’t know, I kind of tend to avoid things that may result in Coraline stringing me up by my balls.”

“Coraline doesn’t need to know,” again that same shrug, “besides, it’s not like she’s exactly faithful to me.”

“Knowing Coraline I can’t imagine she would be.” Josef smiled, and tried to look understanding. He still didn’t quite know where Mick was going with all of this.

Mick ignored Josef’s words, and probed further, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to answer the question or not?”

“Do I want to sleep with you?” Josef was stalling.

“Yes.”

“Why are you even asking me, Mick?” Josef switched to open suspicion then, he wouldn’t put it past Coraline to try and set him up in some way, he was sure he probably owed her from some prior transgression.

“I don’t know,” Mick threw up his hands in frustration, “crossing societal boundaries, being outside the mortal realm, all that stuff you’re always going on about. Just answer the damn question.”

They had been making there way through a park, when Josef let out a reluctant sign of admittance, and finally deigned to answer.

“You know I do.”

“Good, I just needed to make sure.”

The scent of Magnolias hung heavy on the night’s air, and the sounds of cool Jazz could still be heard coming from the party a mile away, when Josef found himself lifted up, carried across a small patch of grass, and slammed into the nearby trunk of a tree.

“Don’t move, and don’t make a sound unless I say so.”

Mick was at Josef’s throat then, whispering a heated instruction into the side of Josef’s neck; one hand clapped over Josef’s mouth.

Much to Josef’s own surprise, he found himself falling obediently silent, obeying Mick without question. Anyone else attempting the same move would’ve ended up on the wrong end of Josef’s fist, had they found him in a good mood.

Josef felt Mick’s hands slip the tuxedo jacket from his shoulders, and then Mick’s fingers were working deftly along the front of his shirt, hastily undoing buttons, stripping the garment from Josef’s body, before pausing to do the same with his own.

“Turn around.”

Shirtless now, the moonlight dappled by trees, casting shadows across pale, white skin, Mick spun Josef around, and bound Josef’s arms behind his back with the sleeves of his own shirt.

It was an exercise in futility; a piece of material holding a Vampire of Josef’s esteem hostage was laughable. It wasn’t restraint Mick was looking for though, it was the illusion of control, the feeling that he could dominate someone more powerful than he. Josef understood that, he had been a fledgling once too.

And still Josef obeyed Mick’s every command, letting Mick move him as he willed. Mick’s hands shifted to the waistband of Josef’s pants, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings he found there.

“I know you’ve been watching me,” Mick slung Josef’s pants and underwear around his knees, “I’ve known for a while now. I knew the first night we met.”

“Then why did you bother asking me if I wanted to sleep with you?” Josef wanted to ask. Instead he bit down on his lower lip, and whimpered when Mick’s hand shifted onto his cock.

“You can speak now if you want.” Mick’s lips were working along the line of Josef’s shoulder, his hand stroking Josef’s length, teasing; thumb slipping over the head, coating it with precum.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck me, please,” Josef didn’t mean to beg, hadn’t meant for those words to have such a desperate edge. Then again he hadn’t planned on any of this, hadn’t meant to be so compliant, willing to obey Mick’s every word. Mick had caught him by surprise, in more ways than one.

Behind him Josef heard the sound of a zipper, the rustling of material as Mick lowered his own pants around his knees. Mick was running on pure instinct then, his movements, slightly awkward, and uncertain, only served to heighten Josef’s anticipation.

And then Mick was spitting into the palm of his hand, hurriedly coating his length with saliva, and guiding the head of his own cock against Josef’s hole.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So he did fuck you then?”

The sound of Frank Campbell’s voice pulls Josef back to the present.

“Oh yes,” Josef chortles briefly, and then shivers involuntarily, remembering the details of what had transpired that night, “twice actually, right there against that tree with my hands still tied behind my back, gripped my shoulders for leverage, and then pounded my ass until I screamed, and begged for more. He made me come so hard I swear I saw stars.”

Josef grins, and raises a facetious eyebrow. He’s enjoying the discomfort he’s creating, watching with unabashed delight as Frank squirms in his seat.

And then Josef’s expression shifts serious. “Understand this,” Josef lock focuses his gaze with Frank’s own, “in four hundred years no one has ever managed to dominate, or control me the way Mick did that night. And yes I was in love with him. Mick had me captivated the very first night we met. There was no rhyme or reason to it.”

“There rarely is when it comes to love.” Frank forces a knowing smile, and swallows once, audibly, using the spaces in-between their conversation to try and come to terms with the knowledge of age, and manner revealed to him. “So why didn’t you pursue it further?”

“Who says I didn’t,” Josef notices the tremor in Frank’s hand, hears the slight crack of nerves in Frank’s voice, “I told you, Mick and I were lovers once.”

“Then why…?”

“…Enough about me,” in one fluid rush of movement Josef moves to sit next to Frank then, “let’s talk about you. How far advanced is the cancer, Frank?”

For a moment Frank is stunned into silence. Josef’s face has changed, all pale white visage, and eyes rimmed red like bruises. And then there was the speed with which he had moved, and his age, he wasn’t joking about that. Four hundred years, Frank Campbell thinks to himself.

“What are you?”

“I think you know.” Josef’s smile is almost tender as he brushes a lock of hair from Frank’s forehead. He’s nowhere near as brutal with his prey as he once was; Frank has Mick to thank for that.

“Nosferatu.”

Josef rolls his eyes, and makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. “I hate that term.”

“One of the Undead,” Frank tries again, playing for time now. He knows what’s coming, would welcome it freely if it weren’t for his fear of pain.

“Try ‘Vampire’,” Josef tosses his head, and then grins. And then he’s edging closer, shifting into Frank’s space. “I can smell the sickness on you, you know. How long have you got, three months, maybe six at the most? You’re not afraid of death though, are you Frank?”

“No,” Frank shakes his head, and then recoils on instinct, pressing back against the corner of the booth. “I watched my Father die from Cancer, I don’t want to suffer the way he did.”

“And now you won’t have to,” Josef pretends to inspect his fingernails for a moment, and then smiles calmly at Frank, “why do you think I allowed you the knowledge of what I am?”

“I think you needed someone to talk to.” Frank Campbell is suddenly embolden, “A decade you’ve been coming here, and you’ve never spoken more than a dozen words to me, but tonight you needed to talk.”

“True.”

Frank continues unabated. “You needed to talk, and you’re not without your own fears, are you? Vampire.”

“My very own ‘Dear Abby’, just what I’ve always wanted.” Josef quips, and then sits back awhile, his expression shifting curious. Frank’s not going anywhere in a hurry, he’s going to let the man talk.

“This Mick St John,” Frank glances at the pile of photos, “you’ve never told him how you feel, have you?” It’s a rhetorical question, Frank continues without waiting for a response. “I think you’ve been afraid to, I think you’re afraid to find out the feeling’s mutual. You don’t approve of vulnerability. I bet after he caught you off guard that first time he never got away with taking control like that again.”

“On the contrary,” Josef shrugs, and then tosses Frank an arched brow grin, “I used to love it when he’d chain me to the bed, even bought a set of handcuffs, custom made. Role playing with leather, I don’t mind it when it’s rough.”

“Always on your own terms though.”

This time Josef defers to Frank’s point of view, and gives a polite nod of agreement. “Well that, and Mick always needed that illusion of control. He keeps a tight rein on his emotions, too tight sometimes. God forbid mister skulk in the shadows should ever admit he has feelings. That’s what you get when your wife turns you into a Vampire on your wedding night, an eternities worth of trust issues.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are your issues, Josef Kostan?”

“You tell me,” Josef folds his arms across his chest, and openly challenges Frank then.

“Ok,” Frank studies Josef in front of him, his eyes shifting over Josef’s form, noting nuances of posture, and body language. Twenty years tending bar has given Frank a sharp eye for this sort of thing. “In four hundred years you’ve loved, and lost so many times you now wear your cynicism like a coat of armour. You have your stock phrases on hand, all ready to be delivered with that razor sharp tongue of yours should anyone get too close, even those you profess to love. You use sarcasm as a defensive weapon; you think it’s easier that way; easier to pretend you never really cared when you expect everyone to leave you eventually. You cultivate wealth, and beauty, and power beyond most people’s imagining – and you’re one of the loneliest creatures on this earth.”

This time it’s Josef’s turn to squirm, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as Frank Campbell hit the mark a little too close to home. For a moment Josef is tempted to offer a sarcastic round of applause, and then deny all charges, “What do you think I should do about it?” he asks instead.

“You could try opening up to someone other than a dead man walking,” Frank replies. “Then again that would mean having to face your feelings in the morning, there’s no hiding, no take backs when the person you’re unloading to isn’t about to shuffle off this mortal coil.”

“Eternity isn’t without its risks either, Frank.”

“Neither is love.”

“Touché.” Josef reaches for the Chivas Regal, and pours himself a final glass, tipping it toward Frank in a mock salute. And then Josef is knocking back the contents in one hurried tilt of his hand, and placing the glass back down on the table in front of him. “Maybe I am due for a change.”

“Then go to him, take a risk; tell him how you feel. Do you know how many people have walked through those doors, and lamented the exact same story into a bottle of booze over the years. I’ve counseled so many regrets I could have opened my own business, Frank’s drink and dump.” Frank snorts a wry laugh, and then he’s speaking in earnest once more. “Lay your love on the line, spell it out for him, letter by letter if you have to.”

“Seek happy nights for happy days.” Josef trails a mock extravagant hand through the air. And then he’s shifting forward, a hand cupping Frank’s chin, tilting Frank’s head to expose his jugular vein. “I think I’m going to miss you, Frank.”

“I’ve had a good life.” Frank smiles as he resigns himself to death, he’s already had three months to get used to the idea, figures it’s just come a little earlier than expected, “Will it hurt?” is his only concern now.

“Only for a moment.

“Then let’s get this show on the road.”

Josef takes a moment to smooth another lock of hair from Frank’s forehead, “Ask me again what I’m drinking to tonight, Frank.”

“What are you drinking to tonight, Mr Kostan, love or money?”

In the seconds before he sinks his fangs into Frank Campbell’s neck, and drains the man dry, Josef answers.

“For love, Frank…

…Always for love.”


End file.
